Boxing Day
by pronker
Summary: How to celebrate Boxing Day in the United States. Slash.


Title: Boxing Day

Fandom: Penguins of Madagascar

Era: TV show timeline

Disclaimer: I do not own this franchise in any way, shape, or form. Dreamworks does. I make no profit from this fanfiction.

Characters: Skipper, Private

Summary: How to celebrate Boxing Day in the United States. Slash.

IOIOIOIOIO

"All right, Private, you say it's Boxing Day, what comes next?" Skipper modified his usual kung fu combat-ready stance to a Marquess of Queensberry opening bout pose per the official rules of American pugilism. The commander shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waved his right flipper two inches from his subordinate's face and cocked back his left for an effective one-two punch. He bobbed and weaved.

Private sighed. "No, no, Skippa! Boxing Day is when servants get boxes of _presents_ from their employers for good service in the past year." He drank in Skipper's aura of power, agility, and readiness for, well, anything. It didn't help his nerves.

"So it's _not_ some made-up Lunacorn fantasy of yours. I knew that. All right, there's some boxed 1898 aged herring left around here - wait, what?" Skipper rocked back, flippers akimbo. "You think you're a _servant_?"

"Well ... now and then, yeah ... I mean, aren't we _all_ servants to the team, in a way ... just hopin' for a little somethin' on the holiday, is all ... whatever you have or w-want to give." A devastating thought arose. " _Haven't_ I been good?"

Now _this_ made Skipper look more sure of himself. "Good? Certainly, you've been good. You made a good elf to my Santa and helped me out at Kidsmas _yesterday,_ you've been a sweet _heart_ for the team all damn year _long_ , blah blah blah, and I am _positive_ you'll be good all _next_ year. Blah. Now where is that herring?"

 _Sweet ... heart? Sweetheart?_ With a touch to a muscled shoulder, Private stopped Skipper from turning away from him in a fruitless search because Rico had devoured all the vintage herring during a explosion of gluttony one midnight. They all knew about it except Skipper. "But I don't _want_ herring." He came close to withering under another glare.

"So what _do_ you want? And need I remind you to hurry _up?_ Kowalski and Rico will be back soon from setting up the train set we gave to Eggy and all of us need to work off some holiday poundage we put on. I'm thinking eighty laps around the pool for a start, and _yes_ , Private, I'm including myself." Skipper smoothed his spotless white front. "Some fat sneaked into the muscles while I wasn't looking."

Private traced circles in their headquarters' floor with one foot. He looked out the porthole. He contemplated the ceiling spikes. He peered into the far corner where Kowalski's latest invention hummed. Whenever Kowalski told them what it was, Private was sure they'd all be put at risk of their lives again. _Oh, dear._ Perhaps one of them would fall victim on a mission. Perhaps the someone would be Skipper or more likely, Private himself. Perhaps Julien would decide any moment to raid their refrigerator and would barge in like he always did. The time was now. "I want a kiss."

"A kiss." Skipper considered. Private was glad Kowalski was not around to offer options. "The chocolate kind?"

Private wrung his flippers, looked down and then up. "No, Skippa."

Skipper waddled a slow, thoughtful 360 degrees around the most junior member of the team. Private felt his commander's gaze burning him as he snapped to attention, and he blushed head to toe.

"You're _sure_ you wouldn't prefer herring?" Skipper looked like he could _see_ the blush through thick waterproof feathers. Maybe he could. Manfredi and Johnson were the only ones to realize the full extent of Skipper's talents, or so Kowalski had whispered one night after lights out, and look what happened to _them._

"Y-Yeah. But, you know, it's _tradition_ that the boss chooses the present, so if you don't _want_ to give it to me - "

At Skipper's next words, Private's face fell and his heart sank like a drowning leopard seal that had forgotten how to swim, a circumstance ordinarily on the plus side in a penguin's life.

"We could do something else. I do want to give what you deserve."

"Like _wot?"_ Why, why had he brought this up? Why hadn't he kept this as a simple birthday wish, the kind that you know at the bottom of your heart will not come true? Then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. That saying was embroidered on the pillow sham that Uncle Nigel had posted to him from across the Big Pond as a Christmas present.

"What do you _really,_ _ **really**_ want for Boxing Day?" The noises from Kowalski's machine changed from a hum to a growl.

Private had had enough. "A kiss." He crossed his flippers over his chest and produced a glare of his own. Uncle Nigel would not let anything slow _him_ down getting what he wanted. "Do it, or, or not."

"We _could_ stop at a kiss if you say so, soldier, but what _I_ wish for is more detailed."

"Oh. Skippa?"

Skipper slowed down his approach to the target. "Yeah?"

"Would you put on your Santa hat first?"

IOIOIOIOIO

The End.


End file.
